


DC16  Tin

by WichitaRed



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WichitaRed/pseuds/WichitaRed
Summary: Tin:   A town where they don’t ask questions, ‘cause they don’t care to get to know you any.Destiny’s Cycle (DC) follows the Outlaw days.. what does Destiny have in store. Each month, I get a challenge, and then the cycle continues. You can follow KC, HH, & the gang through their adventures. DC does link together, but some tales stand on their own. Yet, its building its own world history, inside jokes, characters, places, etc. I hope you enjoy DC. Feedback WELCOMED!





	DC16  Tin

“Tin”

 

 

 

The empty buckboard banged down the mountain road, below it in the bowl shaped valley, the sun-baked roofs of the town glowed white in the afternoon sun. Ahead of the wagon, Heyes and Curry’s geldings plodded along, their puffing, breaths, creating misty clouds to pass through. “You going to remind them?”

Curry peeked over, his face flat.

“Why not?”

“Figure that’s a leader’s job.”

“Posters read you’re a leader.”

“Nope, I’ve decided I only want to be head of security. Of course, sadly, that also includes…” he grinned, “keeping you out of trouble?”

“I don’t need you keeping me out of trouble.”

“Is that you, freeing me from watching your back?” Curry asked, covering his mouth to cough,  but it still sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, “Damn, if that won’t make my life simpler.”

This time it was Heyes, who looked over with his face firm and hard.

Without another word, Curry turned his horse. However, just because he didn’t speak, did not mean he was silent, for his laughter was rolling forth loud and clear this time.

Kicking his sorrel forward, meeting Curry half way, Wheat snarled, “You and him,” he nodded toward Heyes’ back, “pokin’ at me again.”

With a shake of his head, Curry replied, “Never met a man felt the world was so out to get him.”

Wheat Carlson’s weathered face twisted, “most times. . .” he nodded again toward Heyes, “. . . just him.”

 “Well, settle yourself; it was him I was poking at.”

 Pulling at the muffler about his neck, Wheat sifted for answers, when he was saved from replying, by Kyle hollering, “We get into Tin, you mind if’n Wheat and I wet our whistles?”

“Actually, Kyle, I do mind.”

The outlaw’s shoulders hunched, making him look even smaller, where he sat up on the wagon’s seat. 

“Supplies are to be loaded, before all else.”

“Suppose so.”

“No, supposing about it. Whole reason we ride down to Tin is for supplies.”

Keeping his eyes on the team’s shifting traces, Kyle whined, “but, we is goin’ get us a drink before we leave, ain’t we?” 

“It’s what I have in mind.”

Looking over, Wheat asked, “What about cranky, up there?”

Curry did not bother defending his partner, he knew as well as anyone else, Heyes had been acting about as disgruntled as a boy forced to work the farm, when there is a social going on in town.

Kyle asked, “You come on back, to ride with us, ‘cause we’ll chat with you.”

Shifting in his saddle, Curry wiggled his cold toes, “Oh, I don’t mind so much. When he’s feeling cantankerous….” He grinned, “He talks less, makes for a nice change. Nope, I came back here to remind the pair of you to not be shoving your weight around in town.”

Kyle scratched up under his hat, “Aw, Kid, Heyes done gave us that lecture.”

“Mmm Hmm,” Curry grunted.

“We heard ‘em.” Wheat snarled, his chest puffing up, “What he do, send you back here to hold our hands like children.”

A sly, stern look appeared on Curry’s face and turning in his saddle, he looked hard into Wheat’s eyes, “Wanted to assure myself, the pair of you was listening.”

“Well, we was.”

“Good to know.”

The varied class of citizens of Tin from brawny, over-worked miners to resplendently, attired townsfolk did not bother to turn their eyes to the four Devil’s Hole members entering town. Curry sat taller in his saddle, their lack of scrutiny, somehow making him feel uncomfortable. At a storefront, whose glass plate window had 'Apothecary' painted across it, he turned in beside Heyes; who was already dismounted.

Yet, when the wagon rolled by, Heyes turned a glare on Wheat, that had the intensity of a caged dog desiring to bite anyone who dared to get near.

Making as if he had not seen the look, Wheat shifted his gaze away, but the rigidness of his jaw declared otherwise.

 “You ought to let up on him.” Curry stated, swinging down. “For I wind up having to pull you off one another.”

“Still, rankles my hide.”

“Don’t know why, wasn’t anyone but he and Betsy, who got to see all your hide that night.”

The look moved to Curry.

“Oh, yeah, and that gal…. what’s her name… Suzanne, who was bringing in laundry.”

Darkness creased Heyes’ face.

Curry chuffed out a snorted cackle, slapping his cousin’s shoulder, “Give up! You haven’t been able to intimidate me, since…. Oh hell, I can’t even remember when, probably since before I started shaving.”

“That is a fib your telling yourself,” Heyes responded.

“Oh, I think that’s the other way around.” Curry answered, scanning the town, “folk here seem about as pleasant as always. Never have understood why you insist on coming here.”

“I like Tin, they don’t ask questions, ‘cause they don’t care to get to know you any.”

On exiting the apothecary shop, Heyes tucked the wrapped bundle, which amounted to their doctoring needs for illness and wounds for a time, in his saddle bag. Then in perfect synch, they swung into their saddles, trotting to catch up with Wheat and Kyle who were, already, loading supplies under the watchful eye of the shop owner perched on the edge of the loading dock.

Tossing his reins to Curry, Heyes stepped from his saddle onto the dock, “Afternoon, Mr. Ruckers.”

At his name, the merchant turned, one thumb tucked behind the neck string of his apron, the other loosely holding a scattergun. “There you are. Had no intention of taking my eye off ‘em,” He looked toward Wheat and Kyle in their scruffy, comfortable attire, “that is, until you showed up with greenbacks, Heyes.”

Heyes frowned at the sawed-off shotgun, “you ever known us, not to settle our accounts.”

Ruckers scratched at his wide middle, “You, I trust. _Them_ I have not ever seen with a pair of coins to rub together.”

“Be that as it may,” Heyes’ gloved hand, pointed at the shotgun, his expression not to be misunderstood by even the dimmest man.

Ruckers eyes widened and retreating into the dark mouth of his store, he gulped out, “I weren’t actually aiming it.”

Corner of Heyes’ mouth quirked and exhaling, he followed the man, digging a folded paper from his vest pocket, “want to add to our order…box of whiskey, couple bags of candy, pair of size eight boots, ten yards of that cured leather, that stuff that is the right thickness for belts and repairing tack, box of cigars.” He looked up, his dark eyes straying to the glass display cabinet, “pound of Durham tobacco, block of chaw… what’s it made of?”

“Stone.”

This time the flinty, hard eyes that shot Ruckers way, actually made the man jump.

“T’weren’t being factious,” he tugged at one of his long, walrus side burns. “Stones all I know; had a man traded it for a grub stake.”

Stepping closer to the case, Heyes asked, “How much?”

With the mention of money, Ruckers natural arrogance returned, “Let it go for a pair of gold eagles.”

“Seems awful steep.”

“Man said he brought it all the way from Italia.”

Heyes’ tongue slid across his lower lip. “It got a box?”

“It does.” Ruckers smiled, “almost as purty as the set.”

Heyes looked away, his eyes scanning the shelves, “Them Montgomery fruit cakes?”

Ruckers chuckled, “recognize how she straps them empty pie tins together for her cakes, do you?”

“Give me a dozen.”

Leaning on the display cabinet, Ruckers shook his head, “dozen would, nearly, clean me out, she really loaded ‘em with popskull this time, they been selling better than hotcakes.”

Heyes shook his head, “Give me a dozen, you old thief, and don’t be boosting my cost none because of demand.” The dimpled smile, finally, appearing, ‘… and put the chess set in its box, I’ll take it, too.”

“Kind of going to miss it.”

The smile grew, “But, you’ll enjoy my forty dollars.”

“That I will.”

Once the wagon tarp was strapped down snug, Heyes handed each of his men a cigar and turning to Ruckers, stated, “We’ll pick the wagon up in a bit; you and your scattergun keep an eye on it.”

Ruckers’ nose wrinkled into a belligerent sneer, “Why in God’s nightgown would I do that?”

“Because, I’ll put to bed, how you were…” Heyes’ grin twisted, becoming a hellish mockery of affability, “holding _that_ scattergun over my men earlier. I figure, If I keep considering on it, there is a high possibility, I am going to install you with a limp; that will permanently remind _you_ what an all-fired, foolish notion that was.”

Batting his eyes like an owl in a hail storm, Ruckers backed away, “I’d be pleased to watch over it for you, Mr. Heyes.”

“Thought you might feel that way.”

As their boots clumped on down the wooden walk, Heyes’ smile became arrogantly boisterous, and leaning in close Curry, whispered, “Your mouth is going to set you up in a situation, you can’t step out of one day, you know that, don't you?”

Blowing trails of cigar smoke through his teeth, Heyes grinned over at his partner, “that’s what I got you for.”

“So, you’re not releasing me from watching your back then?”

With a wink, Heyes took another pull on his cigar. 

“What were in that fancy box?” Kyle asked, clamping the cigar in the corner of his mouth. “Durn thing weighed ‘bout as much as the dynamite box.”

At the mention of the explosives, Curry rounded, “you packed that snug and sound.”

“The box or the dynamite?” Kyle questioned, absently, from behind his flaming match.

The other three stopped to stare at him.

“Oh, the dynamite.” Kyle chirped, tossing the burnt up match away. “Course, I did. What about the box?”

Back on the move, Heyes replied, “It’s a chess set, all the way from Italia.”

“Where’s that in New York?”

“Keep tellin’ you, Kyle,” Wheat grumped, “everything fancy does not come from New York.”

“Sure seems, too.”

Warmly, Wheat replied, “Only to you. See, Italia is across the ocean.”

“Oh, like Montreal.” Kyle replied, with a beaming smile, snagging the saloon door handle, pulling it open for his pals who were all holding tight to their laughter. 

Heyes informed the others, “Go find a place to light, I’ll get drinks.”

When he turned from the ornately, carved bar, he spied the trio in the corner with Curry positioned so he could see the entire saloon. Pushing away from the bar, Heyes strolled across the room, eyeing the various games of chance; but never once stepping between the front door and Curry’s view of it.

Wheat scowled up from his spot at the table, “Thought you was getting the drinks?”

Dropping into a chair, Heyes saw Curry’s head tilt his way, the slightest bit.

Flashing him a quick grin, he said, “Gal’s going to bring them to us.” And, pulling out a deck of cards, the grin appeared a second time.

“No time for that.” Curry responded, nodding toward Kyle, “tell him.”

“Were a red sky this morning. And, while y’all was at the druggist, a flock of black necks flew over as low as low can be.”

 “That whole red sky is a wives’ tale.”

“Yeah, but geese flying low aren’t.” Kid stated so matter-of-factly, it was clear the discussion was over before it began. 

Slanting his eyes to his partner, Heyes dropped the cards back in his pocket, and without looking, he knew the barmaid was headed their way. Unveiling the exact grin, he knew always nettled his cousin, Heyes said, “No time for that.”

Except, his words did little to dampen the smile Curry had aimed at the barmaid. When she came to a halt at their table, the sweet aroma of summer flowers wafted from her. She returned Curry’s smile, adjusted her tray’s balance, and leaning over Wheat’s shoulder, placed a heavy beer mug before him.

Wheat’s blue eyes flew wide; his head rearing back at the apple slices swirling languidly in the pinkish liquid that filled the beer mug to the brim, a brim which was well covered in something white. Behind him, he could hear other saloon patrons laughter and fanciful, discouraging taunts.

The barmaid, giggled, placing her now empty hand on Wheat’s shoulder, “Lefty, calls it, a bustle warmer.” And, with a more full-throated giggle that set the feathers in her hair bobbing, she placed double-finger glasses of whiskey, in front of the remaining Devil’s Hole members.

Once she left, Kyle switched his attention to the drink and leaning in close, asked, “Wonder what makes it pink?”

Wheat’s eyes flicked to Heyes, who was grinning like a pup with a ham hock.

“Ordered it special for you.”

“Bet you did.”

“Most welcome.”

Frowning until the ends of his mustache nearly touched, Wheat tentatively poked at the white crusted rim. The granules stuck to his finger, his eyes narrowed, he sniffed at it, and then his tongue darted out, taking a taste.

Laughter erupted from the others.

“It’s sugar.”

Wiping at the corner of his eye, Heyes gasped, “What? You think it was cyanide?”

“All things considered.”

Sucking on his grin, Heyes lifted his tumbler and before taking a drink, said, “Smarter than I thought.”

A deep, grooved line appeared between Wheat’s brows.

Before it could go any further, Kyle tapped him on the forearm, offering his own short drink, “If’n you don’t want it…?”

“Nope, Heyes here, ordered it special for me.” Picking up the mug, he kept his eyes locked on their leader and took a large drink. Surfacing, he smacked his lips, “Actually, Heyes….” he took another drink, “thanks, it’s pretty darn good.”

Before the others were done, Curry having downed his fairly quickly, pushed back from the table, “All right, get moving, winter’s coming.”

Nodding Kyle stood up; stealing an apple slice from the little pile Wheat was munching his way through.

“You two get the rig,” Curry told Kyle, pointing at the still seated, Heyes, “we’ll pay, and catch up.”

Ambling toward the door of the steadily filling room, Wheat popped the last bit of apple in his mouth and watching him, Kyle said, “Wish Heyes had ordered me such a grand drink, I think he likes you more.”

Wheat’s full smile emerged, crinkling up his face,  “trust me, Kyle, it’s the opposite of like that he feels for me.”

When the door shut on the pair, Heyes pushed back, swallowing the last of his drink, and placing the glass on the table upside down, he fell in pace behind his partner.

“Heyes, I’m hoping we beat the snow, don’t care for traveling in snow.” Curry said, removing his gloves from his holster belt and pulling them on. “Even more, I know you hate it. You’re lucky, I didn’t tell those two the main reason we’re leaving town so fast…”His smile spread, “was so I didn’t have to listen to you grouse and whine all the way back to the Hole.” Not getting the reply he expected, Curry glanced back to laugh at the dark look pinning his back. Except there was none; for Heyes had veered off and was bellied up to the craps table.

Changing direction, Curry exhaled heavily, and as Heyes raised his hand to roll, he felt a glove wrap about his fist.

“Only plan to roll once, Kid.”

“It is never just one.”

“I already laid my money down.”

The stickman nodded, pointing to the ten dollars covering the ‘pays double twelve’.

The bridge of Curry’s nose wrinkled, “Once.”

Heyes beamed and blowing on the dice, the large smile appeared. The dice spun through the air, hitting the table, bouncing, tumbling until they crashed to a stop against the wall and Heyes frowned, at the three showing; and immediately, holding his hand out for the dice.

“Nope, we’re done.” Curry stated, tipping his hat to the pretty gal, who was the game’s boxman and shoving his cousin around toward the door. “Time for you to catch up with the others.”

One sour look and Heyes tucked his thumbs in his holster belt, snorted, and scuffed from the building.

Watching him it was all Curry could do to hold onto his laughter. 

Minutes later, after removing himself, sadly he thought, from the hands of the sweet summer smelling barmaid, he had found out was named Tilley. He had made his way out onto the boardwalk, wishing they really did have more time to spend in town and also, why all saloon gal’s names seemed to end in y. Noticing how much darker it was, he studied the low hanging gray clouds spreading across the sky. ‘Hope we beat the snow.’ As he stood there, feeling antsy about the approaching storm, a string of roared curses reached him. Turning, he saw down a bit, in the middle of the street, a good rumble was occurring. Moreover, it was from the rumble the cursing, he recognized, was rising. Leaping into the street, he took off at a run. 

Pushing through the circling up crowd, he had to leap over a man laid out in the dirt, with his bowler partially flattened beneath him. With the speed which made him a legend, Curry lifted his pistol, drawling, “Reckon that’ll be enough of that.”

It was not his appearance or his words, so much as the distinct sound of the Colt readying to fire that made the battle freeze and all its participants glance his way.

“Well, Howdy, Kid, it sure be good to see ya.”

Nodding a reply to Kyle, who was shaking free of the man he had been exchanging blows with, Curry said low and calm,  “Heyes, you best be letting up on that one before you brain ‘em.”

Grudgingly, Heyes, rolled back, and standing, kicked the wide-chested man in the leg, making him squall.

The pair, who had been holding Wheat, fell back with their hands up and the man who had been using him for a punching bag side stepped further from Curry.

Having been released, Wheat tottered for the briefest second before toppling over.

Scowling at them all, Heyes latched hold of Wheat’s hand, hauling his gang member up, “You’re a little old to be fighting.”

Rearing back, Wheat’s big hand rolled into a hard fist. Taking a step, he struck the bushy eyebrowed man who had been slugging him. The man’s head snapped back, his dove gray hat hitting the dirt moments before he did. “Well, I’m certainly, too old to be losing.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Heyes demanded, “Were you doing just what I told you not to do in town?”

“Ain’t letting no coyotes mock me.” Wheat snarled, retrieving his hat that Kyle was offering him. “Even when you set them up with the ammo back there.” He hitched a thumb toward the saloon.

Heyes took a step toward the older man, “If you would cease bulldogging me and recall you’re part of _my_ gang… then you wouldn’t never be on your lonesome.”

“I wasn’t alone,” Wheat snapped, taking a step toward Heyes “me and Kyle was doing fine.”

Heyes hollered louder, taking another step, letting go of his hips and flexing his fingers, “Well, maybe Kyle was.”

Wheat’s nose bunched up, pulling his upper lip into a snarl, “I was fixing to shake those two off me.”

Heyes flung a hand in the direction those two had fled, “Oh, I could see that.”

Stepping between the pair of them, Curry held the Colt up where they could each see it, while saying in calm, half-amused way, “Am I going to have to use this to keep you two apart.”

They both looked to him, each attempting to maintain their defiant anger, when in a whoosh, it all slipped away, and they were snorting with laughter.

Shaking his head, Curry holstered the pistol, “good..then, how about we all hightail,  before the law shows up.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
